I can’t say I’m very good at cooking. I don’t even think I’ve made anything I can call a meal for anyone but myself before, but I guess I was the only person for the job. Miles was busying himself with scavenging for supplies on the battlefield that was recently cleared of survivors, which is how we found the potatoes in the first place. There was enough for all four of us to have one potato each. I found it kind of surprising that they were in good condition, considering how ugly and battered the highway looked. There were freshly mutilated bodies scattered about the dusty highway, lightly coated in blood and bullet wounds. The hot day that the weather graced us with didn’t help in keeping the bodies preserved for very long, because the smell of death was already starting to loom over us. It was incredibly sickening, and that with the combination of blood loss from my foot wasn’t really helping my state of mind, and made me feel even less confident in my cooking skills. My eyes started to water from the smell of the place, and I fought hard to hold back from gagging. The Librarian seemed to be busy making a fire for me to cook the potatoes over with some branches that she broke off of a dying tree, while making sure Arabella didn’t pass out again. We had found her behind a building where the Crawleys were hiding out and holding people in, and she was accompanied by a few lovely puddles of vomit. She must’ve eaten corn or something recently, because there were a few yellow kernels floating around in the mix. The whole scene around us was rather disgusting, but I decided I needed to keep my attention elsewhere; I needed to focus on remembering how to make baked potatoes for us all to eat, despite how terrible I was feeling. They were going to be kind of plain, since I didn’t have salt of any other spices to speak of, but Miles was able to find some sauerkraut so that should add some flavor to them. I didn’t really like potatoes, which was a preference I had since I was a child, but at this point I couldn’t afford to be picky. I brushed my short blonde hair behind my ears so it wouldn’t get in the way and got to work.
I took a second after the fire was roaring to collect my thoughts and think of the recipe. If my memories were correct, I needed to wash the spuds first and poke a few holes in them so moisture can spread through them while they’re baking. I took the pint of water that I was given, and used as little of it as I could to rinse the dried-on dirt off of our food. The Librarian was nice enough to leave me one stick that I could use for preparation, so I didn’t have to bring out my switchblade for the job of poking holes in to the potatoes. Perhaps this wasn’t the time to be picky about what I used for cooking, but my switchblade was dirty and very sharp, and I didn’t trust my shaking hands enough to be wielding such a thing. Next, I looked around the area for a few more sticks I could use. It was hard to limp around with a broken foot, but there was enough debris lying around that I could find close enough to the fire. After finding one more medium length branch, like the one I previously used, I broke them both in half and stuck one potato on each of the sticks. I didn’t have a pan or an oven to put them on, so I had to improvise. After making sure they were secure and safe from falling off of the sticks, I stuck the four of them in to the ground so they could bake around the fire. They were close enough that they would get enough heat from the flames, but far away enough that they wouldn’t sit in the fire and burn up from the contact. The only direction left was to wait for them to bake for an hour or so, and to break them open and serve them to my teammates.
I spent my hour waiting trying to redress the wound on my foot. This was a harder task than I could’ve imagined, because I kept missing my foot when I tried applying the gauze. The first time I tried it ended up sticking to the ground and it got dirt and stray grass all over it. The second time it got tangled up in itself and I just tossed it to the side. After a while I got so frustrated with myself and my shaking hands that I just sat there with the old bloody gauze covering my foot, hoping it would suffice until I got some real care for it. The Librarian must’ve seen my pitiful attempt to treat myself, so she took it upon herself to change out the bandages. I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t get it right, but I had a hunch that it was because I was tired, my foot wouldn’t stop shaking, and I had spent most of my brain power trying to remember how to cook. But my injuries didn’t even compare to Arabella’s, considering the poor girl was hobbled over herself trying not to throw up again. It looked like she suffered a terrible concussion, and was struggling to stay awake. Luckily we had The Librarian with us, since she at least had some knowledge of medicine.
The hour passed a lot slower than I had wanted it to. The scorching sun didn’t make the wait any more bearable, and the situation was made worse by the fact that there wasn’t any shade on this stretch of the highway. Everyone having injuries to suffer through just made the waiting even worse. I wasn’t sure how everyone else was feeling, but I couldn’t keep myself from shaking with how much pain I was in.
Miles was done scavenging about 45 minutes in to the wait, and decided to sit around the fire with the rest of us. I remember thinking that even though my wardrobe was suitable for such a hot day, I regretted the decision to leave a sweater or longer sleeved item out of my backpack, because my arms started to turn red from the constant barrage of light rays from the sun. The irritating burn was in the back of my mind when the potatoes were finished cooking though; I was too hungry to care. Everyone took a potato from one of the sticks from the ground and ceremoniously broke them in half. We passed around the sauerkraut and generously layered our food with it, hoping it would add to the meal. We each took out first bites simultaneously. I hope I did a good job.
Miles was busying himself with scavenging for supplies on the battlefield that was recently cleared of survivors, which is how we found the potatoes in the first place. There was enough for all four of us to have one potato each. I found it kind of surprising that they were in good condition, considering how ugly and battered the highway looked. There were freshly mutilated bodies scattered about the dusty highway, lightly coated in blood and bullet wounds. The hot day that the weather graced us with didn’t help in keeping the bodies preserved for very long, because the smell of death was already starting to loom over us. It was incredibly sickening, and that with the combination of blood loss from my foot wasn’t really helping my state of mind, and made me feel even less confident in my cooking skills. My eyes started to water from the smell of the place, and I fought hard to hold back from gagging.
The Librarian seemed to be busy making a fire for me to cook the potatoes over with some branches that she broke off of a dying tree, while making sure Arabella didn’t pass out again. We had found her behind a building where the Crawleys were hiding out and holding people in, and she was accompanied by a few lovely puddles of vomit. She must’ve eaten corn or something recently, because there were a few yellow kernels floating around in the mix. The whole scene around us was rather disgusting, but I decided I needed to keep my attention elsewhere; I needed to focus on remembering how to make baked potatoes for us all to eat, despite how terrible I was feeling. They were going to be kind of plain, since I didn’t have salt of any other spices to speak of, but Miles was able to find some sauerkraut so that should add some flavor to them. I didn’t really like potatoes, which was a preference I had since I was a child, but at this point I couldn’t afford to be picky. I brushed my short blonde hair behind my ears so it wouldn’t get in the way and got to work.
I took a second after the fire was roaring to collect my thoughts and think of the recipe. If my memories were correct, I needed to wash the spuds first and poke a few holes in them so moisture can spread through them while they’re baking. I took the pint of water that I was given, and used as little of it as I could to rinse the dried-on dirt off of our food. The Librarian was nice enough to leave me one stick that I could use for preparation, so I didn’t have to bring out my switchblade for the job of poking holes in to the potatoes. Perhaps this wasn’t the time to be picky about what I used for cooking, but my switchblade was dirty and very sharp, and I didn’t trust my shaking hands enough to be wielding such a thing. Next, I looked around the area for a few more sticks I could use. It was hard to limp around with a broken foot, but there was enough debris lying around that I could find close enough to the fire. After finding one more medium length branch, like the one I previously used, I broke them both in half and stuck one potato on each of the sticks. I didn’t have a pan or an oven to put them on, so I had to improvise. After making sure they were secure and safe from falling off of the sticks, I stuck the four of them in to the ground so they could bake around the fire. They were close enough that they would get enough heat from the flames, but far away enough that they wouldn’t sit in the fire and burn up from the contact. The only direction left was to wait for them to bake for an hour or so, and to break them open and serve them to my teammates.
I spent my hour waiting trying to redress the wound on my foot. This was a harder task than I could’ve imagined, because I kept missing my foot when I tried applying the gauze. The first time I tried it ended up sticking to the ground and it got dirt and stray grass all over it. The second time it got tangled up in itself and I just tossed it to the side. After a while I got so frustrated with myself and my shaking hands that I just sat there with the old bloody gauze covering my foot, hoping it would suffice until I got some real care for it. The Librarian must’ve seen my pitiful attempt to treat myself, so she took it upon herself to change out the bandages. I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t get it right, but I had a hunch that it was because I was tired, my foot wouldn’t stop shaking, and I had spent most of my brain power trying to remember how to cook. But my injuries didn’t even compare to Arabella’s, considering the poor girl was hobbled over herself trying not to throw up again. It looked like she suffered a terrible concussion, and was struggling to stay awake. Luckily we had The Librarian with us, since she at least had some knowledge of medicine.
The hour passed a lot slower than I had wanted it to. The scorching sun didn’t make the wait any more bearable, and the situation was made worse by the fact that there wasn’t any shade on this stretch of the highway. Everyone having injuries to suffer through just made the waiting even worse. I wasn’t sure how everyone else was feeling, but I couldn’t keep myself from shaking with how much pain I was in.
Miles was done scavenging about 45 minutes in to the wait, and decided to sit around the fire with the rest of us. I remember thinking that even though my wardrobe was suitable for such a hot day, I regretted the decision to leave a sweater or longer sleeved item out of my backpack, because my arms started to turn red from the constant barrage of light rays from the sun. The irritating burn was in the back of my mind when the potatoes were finished cooking though; I was too hungry to care. Everyone took a potato from one of the sticks from the ground and ceremoniously broke them in half. We passed around the sauerkraut and generously layered our food with it, hoping it would add to the meal. We each took out first bites simultaneously. I hope I did a good job.